When I was in middle school, there were times I didn’t want my fellow students to see my parents drop me off or pick me up in the school parking lot. I was embarrassed of my parents. Why? I have no idea. Maybe it was our station wagon. Or I didn’t want to look like a little kid. But in retrospect that was a silly thing to do. I was a kid. And I had two parents who loved me and had built a wonderful family. I was afraid of the other kids’ judgment. How silly! I should have been afraid of forgetting or downplaying my family, which is where my identity had its deep roots.

In the backyard of the house where I live with other priests, there is a lemon tree which produces a huge amount of fruit. One evening in the spring I needed some lemons for a chicken dish. I glanced from the kitchen and saw the tree bursting with large, bright, gorgeous lemons, hanging thick on seemingly every branch. Turning to Fr. Bob (I’ll change his name to protect the innocent) who sat on the couch, I said, “Father, could you pick a few lemons for me?” He said sure and into the backyard he went. He returned a few minutes later empty-handed. “John, there’s no lemons. Sorry.” I said, “What are you talking about?” I looked again and saw the grapefruit tree on the other side of the yard, which had recently been picked clean of fruit. He didn’t see the abundant fruit because he was looking in the wrong place!

Years ago, a woman at daily Mass approached me in the communion procession. She had her arms crossed, indicating she wanted a blessing instead of the Sacred Host. She had tears in her eyes. I gave her a little blessing. She returned the next day. And the next. The same thing repeated. After a few weeks, I asked her why she didn’t receive Holy Communion. She said she wasn’t Catholic yet and was preparing to become so. I asked her why she wanted to be Catholic. She said, “Because I long to be in a real communion with Christ and with everyone I love.” That, I submit, is a darn good reason. A few months later, she became Catholic and received the Body and Blood of Christ with unspeakably great joy and still does to this day.

In my experience, one of the peculiarities of being a man is the somewhat unlikely ability to look into the mirror, no matter how out of shape he may be, and declare with full confidence: “Looking good, buddy!” Ask a man. He’ll probably confirm it.

Therein lies a mystery. You might think I refer to man’s ability to deceive himself or his propensity toward vainglory. But in this case, I refer to the mystery of a healthy and proper sense of selflove. We human beings (both men and women) have the utterly weird ability to look at ourselves as if we were another. Then we tend to love this “other.” Then, somehow, that love becomes a bond between the two. We are three and yet one.